Chapter 1: A Modern-Day Venus de Milo

Marcellus

For as long they’d known each other, I could never tire from the intrigue I found in my wife’s peculiar yet fascinating goings-on. There elegantly sat Enhle in statuesque poses for the house’s built-in Hologrameras, capturing every inch of her undulating form. In my eyes, Enhle could only be described as a modern-day Venus de Milo given flesh and bone. A life, having withstood the ravages of humanity’s cruelty, whispered into sculpted marble. An organic, milky white, armless marvel.

The year of our Lord may have stood at 2122 A.D. but barbaric savagery still festered and lingered within humanity well into the 22nd Century. An age colloquially known as The Cyberneissance. 200 000 years of human behavioral evolution and some us still clung to the most aggressive and regressive of urges. A pathetic shame. I digress, even I had to admit that contemporary times did offer genuine societal progress. The opening chapter of the 6th Industrial Revolution bore an age of advanced technological ingenuity, especially in the medical bioengineering sector. Wealthy or poverty-stricken, a simple stroll to the local cybernetic prostheses Surgeoneer would end up with one looking like the world’s screwable cyborg. Well, depending on the Surgeoneer’s competency. And legal qualifications. Back alley cybernetic surgeries were the ultimate gamble in our bio-mechanised world. You’d be lucky if the infections from the botched work killed you well before the societal embarrassment did.

All things benevolent tended to be marred by backwards maleficence, no matter how slim the chances were. Enhle was an unfortunate example of that. The minute she graced the Earth with her first cry and gulp of oxygen, her parents upon seeing her, instantaneously knew her life would be difficult. Enhle was born with albinism. Albinism in South Africa. South Africa, and the continent that cradled it, had seen significant reduction in violent crime by the mid-21st Century. However; a stubborn few still chose to make life a living hell for an even smaller few. At age 13, Enhle found herself in the clutches of a witch doctor that pathetically touted the barbaric notion that body parts of albinos provided “immense healing properties”. As if he weren't living in an age where nanotech was regularly used to cure diseases. The Cyberneissance was meant to symbolise a clean slate, an era where humanity left its worst monstrousities in the history books. Yet there lay Enhle , butchered and scarred for eternity. Barely holding on to life.

She was sprawled on a metallic table within a filth ridden, abandoned warehouse in what appeared to be a makeshift operating room. She’d been so haphazardly plied with illegally acquired anesthetic, that it’d been a miracle she was alive by the time her rescuers came to her aid. It turns out the earrings she’d worn since she was a baby acted as sophisticated tracking devices. Fighter jet parenting saved Enhle that day. The witch doctor kidnapper was blessed with the gift of being turned into Swiss cheese, proudly sponsored by copious amounts of hot lead. He’d become nothing more than a goopy and gloppy stain in Enhle’s memory. The following weeks’, months’ and years’ worth of surgeries and various therapies would never be enough to heal what Enhle had violently lost. Not just her arms, but her dignity too.

“It’s impolite to stare, handsome.” said a familiar sultry voice, yanking me from my cynical thoughts. It was Enhle.

“With a view like you, who has time for manners, beautiful?’ I retorted, snaking my arms around her.

“And here I thought I married a gentleman. Finally, you've exposed your true colours.”

“This canvas was fully finished and painted when you bought it. There’s no receipt for all of this visual goodness.”

She sheepishly smiled, stood on tiptoes and oh-so-gently met her lips with mine. The kiss was clean and sweet, just as it always was. Having abruptly cut the kiss short, she sauntered off to the arm rack in the lounge. The arm rack was a carrier of Enhle’s cybernetic prosthesis, specially fitted to line perfectly with her measurements. Once in front of the rack, she’d take one step backwards towards it, her spinal cybernetics mechanically fusing with the corresponding spinal entry points for her cyber arms. This would allow for a flesh and bone like control and feeling in her arms. All the high-tech wonder would finally come to an end with both arms lodging securely at her shoulder entry points. The entire process sort of resembled how one would put on a schoolbag. Save for the robotic paneling sheen and golden streak accents/highlights, Enhle’s arms were a one-to-one colour match with her chalky-white skin. She’d insisted that since she always never really fit in, why would she go for appendages that perfectly mimicked what she’d already lost?

“Ready for date night?” she asked coyly, heading over to the bedroom for what she’d refer to as an “elaborate outfit change”.

“What kind of question is that? It’s my favourite activity of the week.” I retorted. I follow her lead and found myself slipping into a sleak outfit to paint the town red in. God I adored date night.

“How’s does a tray of sushi for mains accompanied by baklava for desert sound for tonight?”

“I should’ve filed charges against you for stealing my heart the first time, yet here I am letting you doing it again. Damn you, you repeat offender!”

With hands on hips, she laughed a maniacally triumphant laugh. We weren’t exactly talking about some cliché 5-star restaurant dinner date here. Ironically, a few other people were going to dine on unhealthy portions of metallic international cuisine tonight. Blades and bullets. Katanas for the slicing and dicing and Uzi semis for the icing on top. Dressed to the explosive nines for our weekly, late-night romp, we venture off into the night for a good-old fashioned revenging. The blaring neon lights and whizzing self-driving cars always made for a perfect backdrop for whatever hell we would typically rain on Neo York City. It would help masking any noise. God I adored date night.